


four significant factors

by wildenessat221b



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Crisis of Faith, M/M, Pining, Religious Guilt, aziraphale being angsty, aziraphale's famous divided duty, crowley being good with kids, the obligatory crowley saves some kids from the flood fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 18:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20295730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildenessat221b/pseuds/wildenessat221b
Summary: The rain is getting heavier and Aziraphale is safe in heaven, questioning everything.Crowley is far beyond the questioning phase.





	four significant factors

Long ago, in the time before time had numbers because the event which marked the shift from BC to CE hadn’t happened yet, Aziraphale had watched the Earth on a viewing screen - (which would of course, later make its way down to Earth in the form of the flat screen television) along with many other of the celestial beings who had gotten wind that the inconspicuous drizzle that was pattering on the planet would keep inconspicuously drizzling for quite some time until it was neither inconspicuous nor a drizzle and harbouring a hefty sum of dead bodies.

All as part of the Great Plan. The Ineffable Plan. The Greater Good. Or… something.

(Aziraphale_ really_ hated his job sometimes. All the… hellforsaken justifications.)

Aziraphale had been wringing his hands nervously over one another with uncomfortable pinpricks gathering under his skin. He’d felt a flush creeping up his neck, quivers take root in his legs and bile that _wasn’t even there, really_ climb metaphysically up the throat of his non-corporeal form.

These sensations were a reaction to two things. Firstly, the gathering storm, the implications it held and the feeling that a grave miscarriage of justice was about to take place. Secondly, the simply _sickening _feeling that none of the other angels gathered around the screen seemed in the slightest uncomfortable, nor even fazed.

Aziraphale almost marvelled at the blasé primness of their posture, the righteous shakes of their heads when they nodded with false graveness and muttered about ‘fitting punishments’ and ‘making examples.’

Crowley’s words from earlier, when they’d run into each other before the rains began, rang in his ears. “Kids! You can’t kill kids!”

He swallowed thickly, which earned him a funny look from a wizened-looking angel to his left who had the distinct look (because they certainly had a _look_) of one who hadn’t left the office since creation, nor encountered a human and had probably never seen the act of swallowing up close before.

Or perhaps he just wasn't being as subtle as he thought he was about his disapproval.

Attempting to mould his face into one of neutrality, he shifted his attention back to the screen. The winds were beginning to climb, causing great, white foaming shards to whip against the side of the vessel. Over the sound system (which was a system for sounds not even remotely resembling speakers – more like the inside of a bat’s ear, if the inside of a bat’s ear were made of what can only be described to the layman as pixie dust) he could hear elemental lashing and the odd mortal scream. As subtly as he could manage, he winced.

Which necessitated narrowing his eyes.

Which made them squint.

Which made them focus.

Which made… something catch his eye.

It was a flash of red, abnormal and fiery against the muted blue-grey of the water. A flash of red… attached to a Caucasian head… attached to black clothing… which covered a body.

It was a very familiar demon, clinging to the railing of the ark and attempting to haul himself aboard. This would have been an easy feat – his chosen body was young-ish, perpetually, and at this time, it was assisted by being in the cosmic scheme of things _actually fairly young_ – but his movements were slowed by four significant factors.

One of these factors was a three-year-old boy, who Aziraphale would later discover was named Abraham. He was clinging to his right leg.

Another of these factors was a four-year-old boy, who Aziraphale would later discover was named Peter. He was clinging to his left leg.

The next of these factors was a six-year-old girl, who Aziraphale would later discover was named Ruth. She was hanging on tight around his neck.

The final of these factors was a one-and-a-half year-old girl, who Aziraphale would later discover was named Mary. She was balanced on his right hip.

So he only had one arm free to do the hauling. Not an easy task, you see.

He later disclosed that he’d managed to get them that far by flying, but a wave had knocked him out of the sky, waterlogging his wings and leaving him hanging on by his one free limb. “And it was bloody slippery.”(Later, in this case, was the year 2004 at a fish bar called ‘Oh My Cod,’ where the plaice was so good that Aziraphale felt he could ignore the casual blasphemy.)

If Aziraphale’s corporeal form had a heart in the solid sense of the word, it would have been in his throat as he watched Crowley and his young passengers tumble over the side of the railing and to safety. He let out a silent sigh of relief, just as an angel to his left sucked in a disdainful breath.

“That_ Fallen_ is meddling with the Great Plan!” she shrieked, pointing a glowing finger towards where Crowley and the children were scampering across the deck and towards the steps that would take them inside and to safety.

A great chorus of grumbles and grunted outrage began. Angels left and right began jabbing at their (rough incarnations of) smartphones, jabbering about error reports and the like.

Luckily, even in an… establishment such as heaven, bureaucracy takes_ ages_ to get things done. Long enough for whole seas to dry up it seems.

But Aziraphale didn’t know that at the time, could only step back and attempt to somehow shrink inwards on himself to the point of obscurity while the angels raged and he silently, seethingly disagreed.

That was the first time that he felt like an alien in heaven.

And the first that he resolved to spend the rest of his existence dancing delicate circles around Crowley on Earth.

(Or more, if circumstance permitted.)

(Circumstance and his _own stifling, misguided, painful conscience._)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Yet another tiny fic, this one the obligatory 'Crowley saves some kids from the flood' fic.  
Hope you enjoyed - if you did, a comment would be lovely!  
Come say hi on tumblr - also Wildenessat221b!


End file.
